From The Ashes
by D-Tos
Summary: Orphaned by war, left on the doorstep of muggles, and hunted by the remnants of the darkest wizard alive, watch as Harry Potter rises from the ashes of his past to face the challenges set before him and bring peace, and perhaps even change, to the Wizarding World. What will happen when the Boy Who Lived isn't willing to sit back and let Fate lead the way?


From The Ashes

Death

_October 31st, 1981_

Albus Dumbledore sighed as he overlooked the supposed festivities going on before him from his place at the head table of the great hall in Hogwarts. He could easily recall, not so many years ago, when this day was one of true celebration, happy faces and cheers echoing across the hall as the students consumed the feast before them. In recent years though, the excitement and jubilation had been replaced by a much more somber mood, until the point they were at now, with the only conversations being hushed whispers as the students passed theories about where the next strike would take place. For in the last eleven years, Halloween had slowly ceased to be a day of celebration and become a day of dread as the dark lord had his way with the world.

The so called Lord Voldemort had a fascination with Halloween, or rather Samhain. The day of the dead in ancient cultures, reduced in modern day to a single night of costumed parties and candies. But now it had begun to earn back it's old title as, each year, Voldemort would strike on the same day, making some of his boldest and most devastating attacks. The year before he had struck against the Ministry on this day, dozens of aurors falling in defense, and a number of innocents working for the government falling alongside them, a blow the Ministry was still struggling to recover from. No, it was understandable that the students were hushed and fearful tonight. Some feared for their families on the outside, others worried that the dark lord would finally strike against Hogwarts itself, and others had even more wild theories.

Dumbledore himself disagreed with most of the theories he had heard tossed about over the last few days, but only because he had his own. There were two targets he thought might be attacked tonight. He had been searching for two families for over a year, Dumbledore had hidden them himself, but even last year he had worried, expecting them to be found, and again this year. The wards he had hidden them behind were strong, but every defense had a weakness, and Voldemort had proven quite adept at finding those weaknesses. It would only be a matter of time before his targets were found, and he would certainly waste no time in destroying them. Thus, it came as less of a surprise and more a confirmation when he felt something akin to a pinch in his magic, the signal indicating that his wards on one of the properties had been breached.

Immediately, Dumbledore set aside his fork and stood from the table. Certain of his staff looked to him in question, to which he returned only a solemn nod before making his way to the side door, ensuring his gait was as calm and measured as normal to prevent any extra rumors among the students. Once out of the hall however, he hurried directly to his office. The gargoyle guarding his door leapt aside at his approach, and he didn't even wait for the moving staircase to carry him up as he took the steps as quickly as a man of his age could, the door to his office proper flying open of it's own accord as he walked through.

On entering Dumbledore turned to a shelf covered in what most assumed to be mere trinkets, strange contraptions and gizmos, most made of silver and all in some form of perpetual motions. Some bore tiny fans constantly spinning, some arms that twirled about in their own barely distinguishable patterns, and still others that puffed small clouds of smoke into the air. Most assumed these to be mere trinkets, a collection of oddities, perhaps ancient toys or a gift made by some of his older students from when he himself was a professor. To some degree they were right as well, but he had also modified every single one of these trinkets to function in certain ways, reading his various wards and spells to ensure that they were working as intended. If something was wrong, or changed, they would act differently. If something was outright broken, they would cease to function.

At a quick glance, most of the devices were working as intended, but some had indeed ceased to function. The devices monitoring the wards on the Potter's home had completely stopped. Not just the Fidelius, as he had hoped, but every single defensive ward had been torn apart, and quite violently if he was to judge by the fact that some of the trinkets appeared to have exploded. A quick glance to the rest brought a sigh of reluctant relief. The Potter wards may have gone down, but the Longbottoms were still safe, for the moment.

Moving on, the old man looked to another set of devices, and his eyes widened as before his eyes one of the smoke puffing devices blew out a cloud of not white, but green smoke, then ceased completely. James Potter was dead. Mere moments later, the next device blew the same green smoke, and also ceased. Dumbledore collapsed back into his guest chair, staring at the shelf of ward watchers. Lily too was dead now. He had failed them. Promised to protect them and keep them safe, but now, with no time to exit the wards and apparate, he was reduced to watching the last little puffing trinket, waiting for the signal that little Harry too, had met his end. Sure enough, seconds later, long enough he supposed for Voldemort to gloat, the last device also puffed green, and went still. Dumbledore sighed, releasing a breath he hadn't noticed he'd held, and looked down to his lap. "So it is Neville then." he murmured to himself. At least some good could come of this then, as he now knew who he had to protect the most, to finally end this war.

Distracted from his musing by a trill, Dumbledore looked up at Fawkes, the phoenix having been forgotten on his perch during his rush to check his instruments. The phoenix though wasn't looking at him, but at the trinket shelf. Turning once more to see what had his familiar's attention, Dumbledore gasped. The last little puffer had started up again, it's little silver arms spinning around in an unfamiliar pattern, and a steady stream of black smoke pouring from the top. Dumbledore had never seen one of his instruments act this way, and had no idea what it could mean, but if it was operating, that meant that little Harry was alive.

Jumping to his feet with a renewed vigor, Dumbledore rushed to examine the trinket, his mind quickly putting information together. The green smoke could only have been the killing curse. He'd never seen it before, but he had seen others die through these. The smoke indicating a sudden death was normally red. A slow death was represented merely as a gradually decreasing amount of smoke, until it finally ceased entirely as the individual died. If the Potters had all been struck by the killing curse, including Harry, then Harry had just become the first survivor of that curse in history. And as his puffer had continued puffing now for quite long enough for Voldemort to finish the job, yet hadn't stopped, black smoke or not... No, he would wait for confirmation before making such a bold and hopeful claim. For now, he had preparations to make. Harry had to be protected.

Dropping into his desk chair with significantly less grace than usual, Dumbledore grabbed up quill and parchment, scrawling a quick note and waving it at Fawkes. "Take this to Hagrid, please." Responding immediately to his request, the firebird grasped the note in it's talons and vanished in a burst of flame. Grabbing up more parchment, Dumbledore set to writing once more, taking his time for this. If his suspicions were correct, there was no time to waste, and he needed to call the Wizengamot together as quickly as possible, and the representatives of the noble houses would not be agreeable to a rushed, or even magically duplicated letter, no matter the importance. He hardly noticed Fawkes returning moments later, instead focusing on the formal wording required for the summons.

Hagrid barreling into the room minutes later though, drew his attention quite quickly. The half giant had evidently correctly read into the urgency of his note and nearly tore the door from it's magically reinforced hinges in his hurry. Setting his quill momentarily aside, Dumbledore drew a deep breath and schooled his features into a relaxed and solemn expression, not wishing to appear panicked and make this any worse than it was already going to be.

"Hagrid, I have need of your services tonight." the elder man began, foregoing his usual offer of candy in favor of cutting off Hagrid who appeared to be preparing to launch into a panicked questioning of why he was called. Not that that was likely to last long with what followed.

"I'm afraid that I have bad news." he warned solemnly. "But it is very important that you remain calm. Understand?" The expression on Hagrid's face as he slowly nodded his agreement was almost enough to make Dumbledore wish he'd chosen someone else for this task, but time was short, and Hagrid was the most trustworthy person he could think of for this job. The man had always seen the Potters, and the Marauders as well, as favorites of a sort, and likely was closer to the family than anyone else close at hand. If anyone could be trusted with the boy's safety, it was him.

"It would seem, that the Potters have fallen." he spoke slowly and gently, but bluntly, hoping to get the worst over quickly. Predictably, Hagrid blurted a shocked denial and began to tear up, and Dumbledore surreptitiously shot a calming charm at the man under his desk. It wouldn't have much effect thanks to the giant's natural magic resistance, but it was enough to help him pull himself under control.

"All o' them?" Hagrid asked, once he'd choked back the worst of it. "Even," he couldn't finish the sentence, cutting himself off with another sob. Dumbledore though shook his head, allowing a weak smile to adorn his face. "No, it would seem that young Harry has survived his parent's unfortunate end." Hagrid's relief was palpable, as his expression twisted from grief to something much closer to joyful relief. Yes, the news of a life saved was often able to outweigh the news of one lost. Taking the opportunity provided, Dumbledore plowed onward. "He is alive, but unfortunately I don't know any more than that. I need you to go to Godric's Hollow and collect him. Bring him to Madam Pomfrey to look over, and then let me know you've returned." Hagrid hadn't known about the Fidelius, and with it down now anyways, he'd be able to find their home just fine. He'd visited them there several times before the ward was raised after all.

For his part, Hagrid reacted immediately, stiffening in some approximation of a salute and asserting that he'd keep Harry safe, no matter what, before turning to hurry out the door. Exactly why he'd chosen him. It was a long trip to Godric's Hollow though, and Hagrid wasn't allowed to utilize magic... "And Hagrid?" the old man called out as the larger man reached the door, halting him in his tracks. "Best take your umbrella, just in case."

In any other situation, Dumbledore would have chuckled at the surprise, and glee, on Hagrid's face. "Hurry along now." he waved away the man, and his thanks, before returning to his papers. There was much work to be done yet. He was just glad it was a Saturday.


End file.
